


Ma n'atu sole cchiu' bello, oje ne' (O sole mio sta 'nfronte a te!)

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Charles Boyle's numerous lifetime bans, Everyone gets paired off like a God-damned Shakespearean comedy, F/M, Future Fic, Gay Marriage, Gen, Hashtag Jake Loooves Captain Holt Lots, I promise this story is written in English, M/M, Multi, Nine-Nine!, There will be a balloon arch!, Vow renewal, emojis, opera singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 00:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10888500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: On the tenth anniversary of being legally married in New York, Captain Holt and his husband Kevin renew their wedding vows, with a little help from their friends(?).





	Ma n'atu sole cchiu' bello, oje ne' (O sole mio sta 'nfronte a te!)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Ever-Fixed Mark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463002) by [KiaraSayre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraSayre/pseuds/KiaraSayre). 



> This story is another passion project of mine, painstakingly hacked out by hand in an honest-to-goodness notebook whilst being essentially tethered to a desk for several hours at a time. I wrote something similar several years back for X-Men Evolution (Charles finally made an honest mutant of Magneto), but the plain-faced nature of Holt and Kevin's relationship, devoid of 'bromance' or mere ~implications while still maintaining heteronormativity in canon was refreshing to me. 
> 
> I'm also linking to another B99 story following a similar plot point by KiaraSayre, who got there first. Hashtag game recognize game. 
> 
> Finally, the title of the story is lyrics from "O Sole Mio," which Scully sings at the end of episode 1x16, aka the gang's attempt to salvage Holt's birthday party. The English translation is, "But another song that's brighter still / It's my own sun that's in your face!" My biggest fear when getting into this show was that we would learn of Kevin's existence and then never see him again, but his and Holt's relationship is a frequently occurring staple of the show, and it fills the cockles of my gay, gay little heart with joy.

Captain Raymond Holt of the 99th police precinct, Brooklyn, probably should have deduced that something was amiss the morning of July 24th, 2021 when Detective Jake Peralta, also of the 99th precinct, couldn’t seem to quit smiling at him in the elevator at work. “Hey, El Capitan,” Jake grinned, and Holt was in a passably generous and even pleasant mood, so he nodded ever so slightly in response.

“Good morning, Detective.” The smiling did not abate, and now it seemed to be accompanied by the younger man bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Peralta, is there something I can help you with?” Holt finally asked, worried that if this display continued, Jake might even (horrors) giggle at him.

“Nah, I’m good,” Jake replied, wholly unhelpfully. Still infernally grinning, he added, “How are you? Feeling in high spirits today? Maybe feeling like celebrating something?” 

Holt’s brow furrowed further. “Is there something that I should be celebrating today?”

The elevator doors blissfully opened, and Holt waited for Jake to practically trip over himself while exiting before stepping out after him. In spite of his proven difficulty in staying upright, Jake took a few steps backward, maintaining creepily affectionate eye contact the entire time. “You tell me,” he beamed, and Holt bit back a strangled sigh, displeased by several aspects of this scenario.

Alas, it did not appear to be over yet. “Hey, gather ‘round, everyone.” Jake was now rallying the contents of the bullpen at large to, in fact, trap them both in a physical circle for a reason yet unknown to Holt. 

Fortunately, Jake seemed unable to keep whatever was keeping him this ecstatic to himself any longer. “Ladies and gentlepersons,” he began. “Today is a very special occasion.” He proceeded to brandish his cellular telephone, the (cracked, gratuitously finger-smudged) screen of which was now facing the group, before pressing a button. “Ugh, buffering, hang on a minute …” The device remained silent for several more seconds.

“Peralta, if this is another cat video …” Holt warned.

Jake waved a hand. “It’s not, although hashtag Grumpy Cat for life. Oh, here we go.” At long last, the video began to play.

“... ten-year anniversary … gay marriage legalized in New York State on July 24th, 2011 … celebrations all over the state to commemorate this landmark decision allowing same-sex couples to wed …” Peralta pressed another button once the video was over, and the screen obeyed him this time and went blank. 

“Ten years!” Jake proclaimed, and Holt could feel several pairs of eyes on him now. “That’s lapping my parents’ marriage like, five times!”

“Your parents’ marriage only lasted for two years?” Detective Rosa Diaz asked. 

Jake waved a hand airily. “So how are you and Kevin planning to celebrate? Romantic literary criticism over French foods whose names I can’t pronounce? A long, brisk walk with Cheddar through your favorite crime hotspots? Vow renewal?” he joked, but Holt surprised him by appearing to seriously consider this.

“To be honest, Kevin and I have talked about wanting to commemorate our legal union with a full-fledged event.” 

Jake’s mirth did not appear as though it could be contained inside of him for much longer. “You mean a party!” he clarified. “A big ol’ shindig to renew your vows in front of your collective peers and family and dearest friends - those categories can apply to the same people or person, by the way, hashtag adopted son,” he added, and then he gasped. “I’m the officiant!” he yelled triumphantly, beating out no one, so far as Holt could tell. He watched Jake scurry off, presumably to put some of his manic energy to good use (for once) by crowdsourcing the cheapest and fastest way to become ordained online.

Everyone watched him bound away, and Holt took the opportunity to maneuver his way out of the crowd. “Dismissed,” he told the others, and watched them gradually disperse. He then unlocked his private office door and let it shut behind him. 

Sitting down behind his desk, his eyes fell serendipitously on the small rainbow flag perched inside of an empty coffee cup, surrounded by pens. The flags had been handed out in front of courthouse on the day he and Kevin had become betrothed to one another. Kevin had looked dubious and surprised when the vendor, carrying an open box and bedecked in tattoos and piercings and an unnatural hair color and several pieces of rainbow-patterned clothing and jewelry, had beamingly handed him one while congratulating them both. 

It was hard to believe it had already been ten years. Of course, their actual relationship length dwarfed that record significantly, a reality that would in fact put Peralta’s parents’ union to shame, but it was still fascinating for him to ruminate on the highlights of the past decade, not the least of which included the rag-tag team now working probably at least semi-productively just outside of his office. It would have been easy enough to be annoyed by Peralta’s overly boisterous carrying on, but Holt mostly found himself feeling gratified that the team - his team - cared enough in the first place to make a big deal out of his and Kevin’s nuptials. At-work acceptance of his homosexuality still felt new, and he had yet to stop feeling grateful at how times had changed.

He knew Kevin was currently teaching one of his two freshman Classics courses at Columbia right now, but was compelled to make contact with him anyways. ‘Operation: Honey Badger has been initiated,’ he texted; and then, because damn it, Peralta’s frightening joviality had rubbed off on him this morning, he added a small pictorial addition of a fish dressed in a gray suit, one of his favorite ‘emojis’ since Sergeant Terry Jeffords had painstakingly explained to him what they were. (Terry’s daughters, the twins Cagney and Lacey, and his youngest, Ava, were partial to a poop ‘emoji,’ Holt had also learned that day.)

A minute or so later, his phone ‘pinged.’ ‘Glad to hear it,’ Kevin texted back. Included was another suited fish emoji, this one clutching a fish fist in apparent determination. It made Holt smile, almost imperceptibly, but he might as well be grinning obsequiously like Peralta were anyone to walk in at that moment. Thankfully, he remained alone with his shame.

‘Texting during class? For shame, Professor.’ Holt sent the message, and then set his phone on his desk while he logged into his personal desktop computer.

‘Students are taking a test,’ came the reply a moment later. Then: ‘I was pleased to hear from you. One of my more perceptive students asked after the nature and longevity of our relationship after reading something about gay marriage legalization this morning on the Huffington Post website.’

“Oh, HuffPost,” Holt said out loud. To Kevin, he tapped out: ‘Peralta was similarly interested in the anniversary of our union.’ He stared at a row of Business Fish emojis, and then opted to simply finish with, ‘I love you.’

‘To borrow the parlance of Detective Peralta himself, ‘noice, smart,’’ Kevin replied, and Holt positively, embarrassingly beamed.

*

The precinct’s meeting room had the dubious pleasure that day of being filled for morning briefings, and then emptied for the little while that Captain Holt seemed to expect everyone to work before he left for lunch with Kevin (whose presence had incurred numerous ‘oohs’ that followed him and Holt clear into the elevator), and then filled again just as quickly in the early afternoon. 

It was a foregone conclusion that everyone was going to have a role in Holt’s vow renewal celebration. Meeting was a mere formality, largely used as a medium in which to delegate tasks. Unsurprisingly, Jake, who had already received e-mail confirmation that he had been certified as a legal wedding officiant within the entire United States, was facing the other members of the precinct, front and center behind the room’s sole podium. 

“All right, let’s do this,” he enthused. “We know from several past experiences that we can pull off a semi-quick marriage ceremony with grace and dignity and even create the gaudiest balloon arch known to man.” At this, Rosa growled, even as Jake grinned disarmingly. “Just kidding, it was the pinnacle of class, hashtag hot mess.” Most of the group looked mildly amused. “So who’s doing what?” Jake asked.

“Well, obviously, yours truly will accept handsome payment and accolades for her deejaying expertise,” Gina Linetti smarmed, tossing, indeed, expertly groomed hair over her shoulder. “Dancing’s in a totally different income bracket, however, fair warning.”

Rosa rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s getting paid for this, handsomely or otherwise. There had better be a balloon arch, though,” she added menacingly. Several people gulped.

“We’ll put you in charge of that,” Jake suggested quickly. “Boyle, I assume you want to be on food duty. No spicy cake this time,” he said warningly. 

Boyle looked chuffed either way. “It would be a pleasure to engage my culinary expertise, however humble a hobby, for the purposes of-”

“One more word and Amy’s going to be cooking for everybody,” Rosa warned. 

Everyone blanched, including (especially) Charles, recalling all of the instances in which Amy’s attempts at feeding people with home-prepared foodstuffs at had gone unwittingly and often puzzlingly awry with a shudder. “Say no more,” he said quickly, and then looked askance. “No offense, Amy.”

“No, I agree.” Amy - Sergeant Amy Santiago technically - replied. To no one’s surprise, she now outranked all of them, opting to take on Terry’s role after he was likewise promoted to lieutenant. That the both of them were still with the Nine-Nine may have been surprising to outsiders, but the combined forces of Amy’s and Captain Holt’s nitpicking had made it so. 

In truth, numerous attempts had been made over the years to split up their little squad - undercover missions, departmental red tape, sheer score-settling by arch-nemeses in power - but it had only encouraged everyone to double down. Probably Jake would have pressed Amy to transfer if it was the only way to ensure she could rise in the ranks as she deserved to, but for the moment, they were all still here.

“Great, so we’re all saved from the indigestion caused by Amy’s h’or d'oeuvres,” Jake summarized. He winked and blew a kiss. “Love you, Ames!” he called cheerfully. “Hashtag best wife ever.” Not only had Amy and Jake gotten married themselves, they had also had a kid, a son named none other than Ray Charles Peralta-Santiago. The name had been a foregone conclusion well before the kid was born, and had caused Charles, little Ray’s adopted godfather, naturally, to cry with joy, and the others to speculate whether Jake or Amy loved Captain Holt more. (The results were so far inconclusive.)

Jake’s eyes traveled around the room. “What else is there? Flowers? Anyone want to get flowers?” Amy seemed the obvious choice as the remaining female without a specific assignment yet, but as with cooking, it was probably another area of ‘expertise’ in which gender roles went by the wayside. “Anyone?” Jake asked again. “Bueller?”

“I’ll do flowers.” Adrian Pimento, once again a card-carrying, law-abiding (mostly) detective, was likewise not the first person one might consider for such a task, but Jake just looked relieved. “I’ll pencil you in,” he said, and then looked again at Amy. “Hey, babe, can you write all this down for me? No tengo, um, anything to pencil in anything with.”

“Hashtag I’m already recording this conversation,” Amy replied breezily, not missing a beat. “Love you too, though.” (Charles swooned. Rosa punched him in the arm. He winced. She smirked.)

“Hashtag, I’m irresistible,” Jake said, just before being pelted with a paper airplane that had been both folded and thrown by Rosa. “Ow. Hashtag my sensitive boy bi- OW!” he said again when Gina simply lobbed her shoe at him. 

“Hashtag cool it with the hashtags," Rosa suggested. Next to her, Charles was still rubbing his arm. “Is that it, then?”

“What about Scully and Hitchcock?” Charles asked. “And Terry?”

“Terry already has a job as my plus-one,” Gina purred teasingly. Terry just rolled his eyes.

“We’re good!” Scully chimed in, giving a double thumbs-up. Hitchcock nodded equally cheerfully. 

“We still need someone to get the rings, create a Facebook event page to invite people since Holt still refuses to learn how to use Facebook, clothes …” Jake trailed off. “Terry, you game, big guy?”

“Sure,” Terry nodded. “But they’ve already got rings, Jake. People don’t usually buy new ones for a vow renewal. I’m not sure Holt is going to be interested in farming out the task of dressing him, either.”

“Fine,” Jake said. “I guess help Rosa with decorations and RSVP stuff?”

“Don’t worry about RSVPs, I’ve already got a spreadsheet started for logging everyone’s meal preferences and seating arrangements," Amy piped up.

“What! How?” Jake asked. Amy just shrugged. “Okay, anyways, let’s do this! Hashtag dismissed. Hashtag commence Operation: Holt-Cozner Wedding Extravaganza. Hashtag Charles, no dude thongs, Sudanese food, or references to yours and Gina’s fly by night courtship before you hunkered down and became siblings during any and all speeches you make before, during, and after the event.” Charles nodded seriously. “Hashta-”

“Jake, for the love of God,” Amy yelled, and Jake ducked out of the room just as Rosa was wiggling her left foot out of its high-heeled boot prison.

*

A traditional bachelor party was one of the many things vow renewal ceremonies did not usually entail, and everyone suspected such debauchery would have been nonplussing to Holt anyways. On the other hand, the lack of any previous fanfare regarding Holt and Kevin’s marriage presented the opportunity to play catch up to some degree. Such was how the crew had collectively decided to chip in to rent a suite in the same hotel where Charles’ dad and Gina’s mom had had their initial romantic encounter as a quite belated weekend honeymoon retreat.

The night before the ceremony, the Nine-Nine also met at their usual bar for a combined bachelor party and rehearsal dinner. Aside from Kevin, few members of the precinct had brought their significant others along, largely due to the late-night starting time, and also the fact that the group’s camaraderie and general inner circle-ness was difficult to breach.

Once drinks had flowed freely for a while, the toasts began, varying in length and sentimentality depending on the speaker. Charles’ contribution safely avoided mention of his and Gina’s pre-sibling bang sessions, but did end in him crying. Amy’s speech was typed and held in a folder for safe-keeping, which proved to be a good idea when Scully was caught using the folder itself as a bar napkin.

Adrian’s entire toast consisted of a couple of quick swear word-infused accolades, followed by him slamming his glass against the table passionately. Rosa opted not to give a speech, instead simply nodding in Holt’s direction meaningfully (so she said) when someone pointed out that it was her turn. Gina, apparently having come to terms with not getting paid to be part of the festivities, claimed her sentiments for such a day could only be expressed through interpretive dance. Terry had refused her request to join her, but threw her a bone and wiggled his pectorals in time with the music a few times. 

Jake went last. “I’m not good with emotion, as you all probably know. I hope that’s a good excuse if it ends up sucking.

“Captain Holt and I weren’t the best of friends when we first met the way we are now,” Jake continued. There were a couple of titters at this. “Pretty much I figured either one or both of us was going to end up dead vis-a-vis strangulation by tie, in fact.” The corners of Holt’s mouth seemed to be imperceptibly quirking upwards. “Now, though, I can safely say that I would gladly take a bullet for this man, and I feel secure knowing that he would do the same for me.

“Holt is the best captain this precinct has ever had,” Jake segued.”He’s incredibly hard-working, an anal-retentive perfectionist, a stickler for rules, in some ways the most boring human being alive …” He paused. “He’s also compassionate, forgiving, morally upstanding, and, it took me a while to see this, but Kevin isn’t wrong in saying he’s the funniest man he’s ever met. You have to be lucky enough to get close to him to see that. I’m so grateful that I’ve had the pleasure of serving under him, going undercover with him, babysitting his dog, killing Kevin’s prized plant that he’d had for years and that was basically a leafy child to him - on accident, but again, keeping the dog alive, even if he did get lost for a while. 

“Anyway,” Jake concluded, “I just want to say that I love you, Sir, we all do. We will fight for you, stand behind you, and you know, if you ever did want to fulfill any latent father-son fantasies and throw the ol’ pigskin around, I’m like available. Okay, speech over. Boobs, poop, hashtag noice, smart.”

When Jake finally released his grip on the microphone (usually used solely for karaoke at this establishment) that had made its way around the room, handing it over to Holt and then stepping away quickly, head bowed in what was probably slight embarrassment, the atmosphere was surprisingly serious. “Thank you, Detective Peralta, everyone, for being here today.” Holt’s softly booming voice hardly needed volume enhancement. “I am incredibly blessed by your overwhelming acceptance and generosity. Thank you as well for allowing Kevin to join us, this, our … family.” The term was said with affectionate finality. Beside him, Kevin squeezed Holt’s shoulder, his expression soft. 

Holt continued: “That all said, I urge you to partake in the humble offerings of this establishment - play some recreational rounds of darts, try your hand at pool. That’s all.” He took a breath and held up the glass he was holding: “Nine-Nine!”

“Nine-Nine!” the room chorused. Some time later, the bulk of the crew tried their hands, and booze-addled minds, at an impromptu Holt-themed bar trivia contest. “What does the winner receive?” Holt queried as team names were bandied about. (“We are not going to be Gina and the Linettis,” Terry could be heard saying.)

“Free drinks!” Rosa’s most obvious sign of inebriation was the amount of smiling she was doing.

“And the loser?” Holt continued, unfazed even by the high gum and teeth ratio that Rosa was currently sporting.

“I dunno, prolly booze,” Rosa shrugged, and then wandered off before answering Kevin’s inquiry as to the illogical nature of the competition, such that it was. (“Boxers or tighty-whities?” Jake’s words only slurred a little while prompting Charles and Gina to weigh in on Holt’s underwear preferences.)

Kevin’s fingers were warm as they reached over and gently grasped Holt’s hand. (“Commando!” Gina crowed behind them.) The movement was subtle - even here, the Holt-Cozner household was not prone to public displays of affection - but the gentle squeeze he received in return showed Kevin that he and Holt were on the same lovingly weathered page.

*

Considering the Ninety-Nine’s track record for excessively colorful holiday celebrations and, even more specifically, marriage ceremonies, the fact that the day of Holt and Kevin’s vow renewals came together smoothly and calmly was a little shocking. “I’m kind of worried we’re being lulled into a false sense of security,” Gina was telling Jake as they double-checked decor in the two men’s expansive backyard, currently filled with rows of matching white chairs, parted in the middle by an expanse of fabric leading to the household’s pre-existing gazebo, which was pulling double duty as a makeshift dais for the day. 

On many of said chairs, varied friends of both Holt and Kevin sat. Notably, the bulk of the Nine-Nine was paired off with rarely seen significant others: Terry and Sharon and their three daughters; Boyle and Genevieve, who would have gotten married alongside Jake and Amy in the world’s most awkward double date-cum-wedding if both Jake and Amy had not adamantly refused, and who had their adopted son Nikolaj in tow; Hitchcock and Scully, all but married themselves, and Cindy Shatz, whom Scully had met at Cop-Con in Richmond, and who had accepted that Scully and Hitchcock were a matched set. Gina was single (“by glorious choice,” she insisted if anyone expressed concern), but kept Amy company in the crowd. She also provided a strategic barrier between Amy and the chair-and-a-half that Rosa and Adrian were occupying while furiously making out.

“I mean, nice weather, none of Charles’ food made me want to barf on sight …” A moment later, Gina’s fears were assuaged. “Oh, never mind, we’ve just wandered into chaos,” she said, pointing at the sudden appearance of Rosa’s much-discussed balloon arch. “She’s beauty, she’s grace,” Gina snorted, watching Adrian affix it just before the carpeted aisle on which the wedding party would soon be traveling. 

And travel it did. From the gazebo, Jake watched as Terry’s twin daughters made their way down the aisle side by side, tossing flowers painstakingly, and possibly illegally, procured by Adrian, as they went, mostly on the ground and then, at the end, at one another a bit. 

Next, opting for simply omitting a handful of wedding traditions rather than attempting to adapt them as appropriate for a same-sex vow renewal between two middle-aged men without any blood relatives in attendance, save Holt’s sister and nephew, the two grooms made their own journey to the gazebo together. Both men had donned smartly tailored suits for the occasion, a stark contrast to the white tuxedo that Jake had somehow acquired; Holt’s current theory was that he had paid extravagantly for it on an auction site solely for possessions pre-owned by mafia bosses.

Jake himself seemed more nervous than usual, clutching a small book that was opened to a sticky noted page. “Ladies and germs.” Jake faced the crowd now. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the renewal of the union between Raymond Jacob Holt” - he emphasized the ‘Jacob’ before continuing - “and Kevin, no middle name given, Cozner.” Jake’s hands shook a little as he regarded the open page. “Hmm. Okay. Okay, cool. Cool cool cool,” he muttered to himself, and then: “Captain, er, Ray and Kevin have prepared their own vows, er, renewals.” Jake turned towards Holt. “Ray, would you like to start?”

Holt and Kevin faced one another. “Kevin, being married to you these past ten years has been like getting to eat plain toast and a soft-boiled egg for breakfast every day of my life.” (“He means that in a positive way,” Jake mumbled under his breath.) “I cherish all of the memories that we have made together, and I look forward to continuing to build a life with you. You complete me,” Holt finished, and Jake (and several others) had to pretend to find something interesting on the ceiling of the gazebo for a moment while he surreptitiously wiped at his eyes. 

“Kevin, your turn, man,” He finally managed, Kevin’s normally somewhat pinched expression was considerably softened now. Even Jake’s aggravating charm was met with a smile and nod today rather than a lecture.

“‘A glimpse through an interstice caught,” he recited, recalling in even tones the entire text of a brief Walt Whitman poem while maintaining eye contact with Holt. “‘A long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest / There we too, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.’” Kevin paused, switching to his own words now. 

“We’re no longer the callow youths we once were, to be certain, Raymond,” Kevin continued, smiling at a nodding Holt, “but I will value any space alongside you, regardless of how few or many words are shared between us at the time. I am ‘unremark’d,’ alone, but you make me feel as if I am worthy of all your attention when we are together. You have my heart, Raymond Holt, then and now and for many more ‘late winter nights’ to come. I love you.”

When he was done, Jake cleared his throat. “I’m going to pretend I understood all of that,” he joked, but quickly sobered. “Will the ringbearer please bring over the rings now?” he called out. On cue, Holt and Kevin’s dog, Cheddar, trotted down the aisle with a small pillow strapped around his middle, earning several ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the guests.

Exquisitely trained, Cheddar stood still while Jake undid the pillow’s fastenings, presenting Holt and Kevin’s own previously owned wedding bands to them. “I know we didn’t need to do this part, but I’ve always wanted to be part of a wedding with a dog ring bearer, so thank you for indulging my fantasy.” 

The rings were reaffixed on fingers shortly after that. “So I think if I just say, ‘I now pronounce you to be married,’ that makes it like, official, so, um, that.” The applause in response to the chaste kiss showed between the grooms was somewhat disproportionately loud, but once again, Holt opted simply to count his blessings.

“Good work, Peralta, he said to Jake, who looked relieved, fiddling with the pillow. He nearly dropped it with a small gasp when Holt spread his arms briefly, just long enough for Jake to launch himself into them for a hug.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jake whispered before they parted, and Holt surprised him again with a subtle yet legitimate smile. Then: “Hashtag, I’ll go get my catcher’s mitt,” Jake added, and Holt just sighed.

Scant moments later, hands clasped, Holt and Kevin walked the opposite way down the aisle, accompanied by a live opera solo by Scully. Its solemnity was not matched by the musical selections chosen by Gina for the reception following the ceremony, but it suited Holt and Kevin well.

After a few gratuitous sweeps around the backyard amidst a sea of smiling, congratulatory faces, Holt and Kevin made their way towards the driveway at the front of the property, in which their cherished, classic (cheap, if Doug Judy was worth his reputation in Pontiac Banditing) car, the ridiculously named Sex-o-Rella, sat pre-packed with all of their weekend getaway necessities. At the back, great delight had been taken by multiple members of the Nine-Nine to affix several streamers and things on strings to the bumper. The coup de grace, however, was the large, neon-painted scrawl that proclaimed the car’s soon-to-be occupants to be ‘JUST REMARRIED!!!’

“They do realize it is quite illegal to operate a motor vehicle with the back window obstructed, do they not?” Kevin asked once they were both in the car. As they pulled out of the driveway, they could hear and feel the added bumper decorations bouncing along behind them.

“Number two,” Kevin continued, “does Detective Peralta honestly think ‘hashtag’ is still, to quote my younger students, ‘a thing’? Also, should we lower our expectations as to the amount of pieces our house and dog will be in when we return?” 

Holt’s smile was small but genuine. “Probably not, definitely not, and I instructed Detective Santiago to hire a professional cleaning service once the guests are cleared out. Likewise, Detective Boyle said he would take full responsibility for Cheddar’s fully intact body while we’re gone to ensure he stays that way. Actually, I’m going to change my answer to the first question: No, they most definitely don’t know that coloring the back window is illegal. It’s quite concerning.” 

Side by side, the two men chuckled. Then, speaking little, content, and happy in being together, they followed the horizon towards long-awaited honeymoon bliss.


End file.
